


Far Away Indeed

by trollmela



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Troy (2004)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is nearly dusk when Peleus offers his hospitality to three travellers. Strange they are, all three tall and grey-eyed, and with the bearing of kings and princes. And then there are the pointed ears two of them have, which Peleus had so far thought to only belong to myth</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Away Indeed

It was late autumn in Phthia, the time when the sun set early, and the people were busy labouring on the fields. Harvest was expected to be good this year, despite the fact that fewer people than usual were working to retrieve it. A good number of Phthia’s men were away, led by the king’s son Achilles to war, victory, and spoils. Almost any day now they were expected to return. Peleus, the king, would look out over the country every so often to see whether there was any sign of their homecoming.  
  
One evening, when it was nearly dusk, Peleus spied three riders on the horizon who were slowly nearing Phthia. Anticipating a possible message from his son, he stopped to await them. He soon saw, however, that the riders were foreigners. Their clothing was unlike anything worn in Greece, or in Persia for that matter. One wore a dark green cloak held together at his throat by an exceptional piece of jewellery depicting an eagle in flight. The bird’s eye was a bright stone the like of which Peleus had never seen before. He had weather-beaten skin a shade paler than was usual in Phthia, and grey eyes which showed experience and fire.  
  
This man’s horse was a chestnut stallion with a smooth, bright copper-red coat and white markings on its muzzle and both hind legs. Peleus could tell that the horse had been sweating, but it showed no great exhaustion.  
  
Of his two companions Peleus could see little: they wore grey cloaks clasped with green gems in the shape of leaves, and the hoods were drawn over their heads, thus hiding their faces. Peleus thought he could make out piercing grey eyes anyhow. Their horses were two identical black mares which they, like the other man, rode like true horse masters.  
  
As they neared, the man in the green cloak moved his horse to the front while the other two remained side-by-side behind him. The first rider lifted his hand with its palm turned to the king.  
  
“Well met,” he said.  
  
“Welcome, stranger,” Peleus replied. “How may I help you?”  
  
“We are looking for a place to sleep. Do you know an inn or anyone willing to take in a guest?”  
  
The stranger had an almost lilting accent which gave his words a melody foreign to its native speakers. Now that he was closer, Peleus was able to study the man’s face. He noted his wild hair and thin, unruly beard which covered his upper lip, lower cheeks, and his chin which had a cleft that Peleus could discern even through the dark facial hair. He seemed like an honest, even noble man. The king could also now see the man’s arms: On his back he carried a short bow and a quiver of arrows; the hilt of a knife and the pommel and hilt of a great sword were visible in his belt.  
  
“My name is Peleus. I am king of Phthia. You may follow me, and I shall provide you with food and rooms to rest in. And if you know any songs to sing or stories to tell, I shall consider that compensation enough.”  
  
“Your offer honours us. I am called Thorongil and my companions are Elladan and Elrohir.” Nimbly the stranger jumped off his horse, lowered his hood and bowed his head slightly in greeting. The other two men dismounted and copied the bow.  
  
“Please, lead the way,” Thorongil said.  
  
They went up the hill to the palace, where the king beckoned to a lingering stable boy to take care of the horses.  
  
“Treat them well,” Thorongil said. “They are good horses and have carried us far.”  
  
“Indeed they look like fine animals. Where did you get them?” Peleus inquired politely. His country prided itself on breeding good horses, and he was eager to learn where these steeds came from.  
  
“Mine was a gift from the King of Rohan when I left his service. My brothers received theirs from their father.”  
  
“Then your service must have been worth a great deal to this king,” Peleus remarked to Thorongil. He noted that while Thorongil had named his companions as his brothers, he had not said ‘our father’.  
  
The man did not reply verbally but merely gave a nod of acknowledgement. Clearly he was not prone to boasting.  
  
“I must admit my ignorance, though, on where the Kingdom of Rohan is exactly,” Peleus continued.  
  
“Far to the north and much further west.”  
  
“A long way to travel.”  
  
Thorongil and his companions had taken their luggage off the horses’ back and followed Peleus up the stairs to the palace.  
  
The man smiled. “That it is.”  
  
They entered the palace. Thorongil’s companions had still not said a word, nor shown their faces. The king wondered at that and decided that as their host he had a right to see those to whom he had offered his hospitality.  
  
"Will your companions not lower their cloaks? There are not many men who have to be afraid in my country when they come in peace," he said.  
  
Thorongil exchanged a look with his companions. They spoke no word but, almost simultaneously, the two men reached up and lowered their hoods.  
  
The first thing Peleus was taken aback by was their beauty. There were not many men he would ever call beautiful, but there was no better fitting word for the two travellers standing in front of him. Their skin, pale and flawless, seemed to emit an ethereal light; and their eyes, while the same colour as the other man's, were brighter and more keen, as if no secret on earth could remain hidden from them. Their appearance overall was youthful, but in their eyes there seemed to lie the knowledge and experience of many, many years.  
  
They were twins, absolutely identical, and even if Peleus had known them for his whole life, he would probably still not have been able to distinguish one from the other. They had both long dark hair which fell over their shoulders down onto their backs like waterfalls. They wore small braids on either side of their heads which prevented the hair of dropping into their eyes.  
  
But what gave Peleus a visible shock, causing him to take a step back, were the small ear points which broke through their strands of hair.  
  
"By Zeus," the king gasped. Against all customs of hospitality, he could not refrain himself from asking: "Who are you?"  
  
"We are elves," one of the beings said.  
  
"Elves? I believe I may have heard stories about elves before, long ago from a merchant, but I do not believe he said that you really existed. I thought he told merely myths."  
  
The elves smiled a little. "Do not feel guilty. There are many men who live much closer to elven realms and yet still do not believe in our existence. These days the elves rarely venture outside of their own lands."  
  
"I see," Peleus said, though his expression showed that he wondered why. But he merely bowed, saying: "Your presence is a great honour. It is unseemly to question guests before a meal, so please allow this man to show you to one of our guest rooms. I shall go tell the kitchen of your arrival and have them prepare the meal. Today, the gods are dining among us!"  
  
Elladan and Elrohir may have considered this a great exaggeration but they did not protest.  
  
“Thank you,” Thorongil said.  
  
“Someone will see you to the dining room once dinner is ready.”  
  
The three travellers followed the servant, and Peleus, after having taken a last look at their backs, hurried to the kitchen. His thoughts raced. He was no stranger to gods and goddesses, or even to centaurs, but elves were something unknown even to him. The merchant who had visited him so long ago had called the Far Harad his origins, and told many stories which had seemed mythical to the king: of giant animals with tusks which could sweep away entire armies and stomp them into dust; stones which shone as brightly as the stars themselves; others with which one could see the future; an evil race with black skin and yellow eyes. And yes, there had been talk about a race called elves; but the merchant had admitted to never having seen any himself and described them as a race of mighty, terrible beings akin to gods.  
  
Yet the two he had now welcomed into his house had not seemed terrible at all, though indeed in appearance as unearthly as gods. Their beauty masked their age to the point where Peleus felt unable to estimate it. It reminded him of the way his wife looked sometimes when she spoke about visions.  
  
He shook the thoughts off. Peleus instructed the kitchen servants and slaves on what he wanted for the evening meal. When he left them, he came across his wife who obviously sought to speak with him.  
  
“You have welcomed visitors to our home,” she stated.  
  
“I have,” Peleus nodded. One seems like an ordinary man, though perhaps of great standing. The other two are twin brothers, and they call themselves elves.”  
  
“Elves?” Thetis looked as if she was seeking for some knowledge within her mind. Peleus waited for what she might say. But at length she merely commented:  
  
“How unexpected. And strange, perhaps. I wish to see these elves. I assume they shall be dining with us?”  
  
“As soon as they have cleaned up and the meal is prepared.”  
  
“Good. I will see you then.”  
  
As she left, Peleus wondered how word had reached her. She was a nymph, true, and thus with powers beyond his comprehension. But lately she had spent little time in his home. Their marriage had been an arranged one, and he could not find fault with her, as she had given him what any man desired: a good and strong son. She, however, was the only one of the sea people who had been wedded to a mortal, and she had to suffer not only the ageing and death of her husband, but also the ageing and eventual death of her son. Sometimes he wondered whether he might have made a better choice with a mortal woman than with a sea nymph.  
  
Lastly Peleus decided to seek out Patroclus and notify him of the visitors. The son of Menoetius had been unable to accompany Achilles on his most recent campaign due to a broken foot. The healers had advised strict bed rest, but Peleus knew that Patroclus, usually quite an active young man, chafed at the forced immobility and would appreciate some distraction.  
  
After he had done so, the king made one more round in the palace’s vicinities, though he knew that it was unlikely Achilles and his men would arrive this late in the evening. But he found that he was unusually nervous, a feeling all men felt from time to time but rarely admitted to; he was eager for the meal to be prepared so that he might talk some more to his guests.  
  
At last the feast was prepared. Thetis came and sat down next to Peleus. Patroclus had been helped to the feast hall from his bedroom and was sitting beside Thetis with a stool supporting his left leg. Various advisers of Peleus were also present as they were almost every night. Finally the doors opened and the foreigners arrived.  
  
Like before, Thorongil was at the front while the two elves walked behind him side-by-side. Peleus wondered whether it was only his impression that the elves glowed even brighter now that they had washed off the dust of the road. Thorongil’s hair had been thoroughly combed and brought into order. The elves’ hair had been evidently rebraided as well. They wore clean clothes which had probably been in their packs and no weapons. They wore little jewellery, yet their posture and bearing were not of simple men or even merchants, but of kings and princes.  
  
The Greeks gasped softly, and Peleus could hear Patroclus also drawing in breath in wonder. The Myrmidon king wondered whether all beings in the north were like them.  
  
Out of the corner of his eyes he glanced at his wife. Thetis’ eyes were bright and she was studying the foreigners closely but, he noticed, without suspicions; her interest had definitely been peaked.  
  
“Thank you for joining us tonight. I hope your rooms are to your satisfaction?” The king asked.  
  
“We found them without fault,” one of the elves replied.  
  
“That pleases me to hear. Come, sit so you may judge the worth of our food and drink.” Peleus indicated three chairs to his right, the place of honour.  
  
The twin who had spoken exchanged a look with Thorongil and with nary a gesture, Thorongil chose the seat immediately next to the king.  
  
Peleus gave a sign for the servants and slaves to begin serving the food.  
  
“In Greece it is custom not to question a guest until after they have eaten, so we will wait until then. But please, enjoy the meal.”  
  
They ate roast beef and drank sweet wine from Phthia’s best vineyards, and the visitors seemed to enjoy the food. Once their hunger was sated and the wine had refreshed the men, Peleus asked:  
  
“Now that we have eaten, tell me where you come from and what led you here.”  
  
“We come from the north,” Thorongil replied evasively. “Near Rohan, of which I’ve told you.”  
  
Peleus smiled a little. “I assume there would be little point to asking what your country is called, for I would not know it.”  
  
“Probably not,” one of the elven twins said. “But to show you that we do not hide our origins from you for malicious reasons: we come from a place men call Rivendell.”  
  
“And your purpose here?”  
  
“My purpose is simply to travel to gather experience,” Thorongil spoke up once more.  
  
“A noble objective,” Peleus praised. “And your brothers?”  
  
“We decided to accompany him. We have seen many human cities and countries, but have never been in this area.”  
  
Thetis laid her hand atop Peleus’ arm in a sign that she wished to speak. The king gave her permission with a wordless nod.  
  
“Your eyes speak of great age,” she said. “You are clearly not humans, and you have already said to my husband that you are elves. Are you then immortal?”  
  
Both twins now studied her more closely, then the one who had not spoken before answered:  
  
“You are correct. Elves do not die of age. Like you, I assume, for I feel that you, too, are not a mortal woman.”  
  
Thetis smiled serenely. “That is true. I am a nymph.”  
  
The visitors frowned in confusion. They had obviously not heard the term before.  
  
“I come from the sea,” she explained.  
  
Comprehension seemed to dawn on them then. The twins exchanged a few short sentences in a melodic language, which none of the Greeks understood. Peleus did note that they used the word “Ulmo” more than once.  
  
“We understand,” one twin finally said to the royal couple.  
  
“You do not seem overly surprised,” Patroclus commented, addressing the foreigners not for the first time tonight, but the first time outside of casual conversation.  
  
“If we understand correctly, then she is of a similar race as one of our ancestors.”  
  
“Really? Who are your ancestors?”  
  
The twin smiled. “Our father is Elrond of Rivendell; his parents were Eärendil the Mariner and Elwing. Eärendil was the son of the elven maid Idril and the mortal man Tuor, while Elwing was the third child and only daughter of Queen Nimloth and King Dior of Doriath. King Dior was a half-elf, born to the mortal Beren by the elf-maid Lúthien Tinúviel, who was the daughter of Elu Thingol and his wife Melian. She was a seer and belonged to the race of the Maiar. That, I believe, is similar to a nymph, though she did not come from the sea but from an isle in the West.”  
  
“These names sound strange but sweet to my ears. You have called only two of your ancestors mortal, yet you speak of all of them in the past. How could they die if they are immortal?” Peleus inquired.  
  
“Some were murdered, others sailed West or are elsewhere where we cannot visit them. And Lúthien chose mortality for her husband and thus passed away not long after him.”  
  
“Then you are not gods?” Patroclus inquired.  
  
Again the elf smiled softly, though there seemed to be a hint of laughter in his eyes. “No, we are not gods.”  
  
“I’m sorry but I cannot distinguish between you and your brother. Which one is which?” the young Myrmidon asked.  
  
Thorongil laughed out loud. “My friend, if they put their minds to it, only their father and grand-parents can tell them apart.”  
  
The twins joined in the laughter. “You exaggerate,” one said. “See this?” He lifted his right hand to show a bright silver-coloured ring on one of his fingers. “I am Elladan. My brother Elrohir wears no such ring. That, at least, is the most obvious difference if you haven’t known us for years.”  
  
His brother – Elrohir – lifted his hands to show his bare fingers.  
  
Patroclus leant closer to better see Elladan’s ring. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen silver this pure and bright! Your jewellers must be greatly gifted.”  
  
“Oh, they are, but this is not silver. It is Mithril, a very rare metal, stronger than other materials but lighter in weight. It has many usages, but unfortunately the mines are all closed and there is little to be found of it now.”  
  
“The times are changing,” Elrohir remarked solemnly. “Things which once were pass on and leave the world. That is the way of it.”  
  
Peleus regarded him thoughtfully then, his words having struck a chord in the Myrmidon king he had not felt before. Even Thetis seemed to be surprised.  
  
The host shook the feeling off for the moment and turned to Thorongil.  
  
“We have heard the names of Lord Elladan’s and Lord Elrohir’s ancestors – and I do not doubt that they are lords. Now will you not tell us yours? You called them your brothers before, and they have mentioned mortals in their line. Do you call the same men your family?”  
  
Thorongil smiled somewhat sadly. “I call them mine only due to Lord Elrond’s generosity. I was taken in by their father, for unfortunately I never knew my own sire.”  
  
“Forgive my asking,” Peleus apologized. He hadn’t meant for Thorongil to feel ashamed for not knowing who his fathers and forefathers were. But the other man made a negligent gesture to show that the question hadn’t been bothered him.  
  
“Why don’t you tell me instead about your home and the cities to which you have travelled.”  
  
“Very well. I shall tell you about Rohan first.”  
  
And Thorongil told the Greeks about a king in a golden hall and his ancestors, the deeds of Helm Hammerhand, the horses and the line of the Maeras, the Éothéod and their coming from the north to aid Gondor which led to the Oath of Eorl between Gondor’s Steward Cirion and Rohan’s first king Eorl.  
  
“And what about the elven realms?” Patroclus asked eagerly once Thorongil had finished. The older man turned to him and seemed to almost scrutinize him.  
  
Peleus, astute king that he was, rebuked him softly:  
  
“There are places in this world which are rightfully shrouded in mystery. To speak of them may endanger those who live there. The people who know of them do well to keep their secrets guarded.”  
  
Elladan smiled. “We thank you for your understanding. Yet I think there are some things we may share with you. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Silmarilli?”

That story took up the rest of the evening.

* * *

The next day, Aragorn was woken by an insistent knocking on his door. He groaned, his head hurting from too much wine the evening before. But evidently the disturber of his rest did not need an invitation to enter. Aragorn had no time to wonder what insolent servant would do this, as Elladan and Elrohir entered.

“Come on up, Estel! The sun has risen and our hosts are long awake. What will they think of their guests if they remain in bed until noon?” Elladan ribbed him cheerfully.

At times like these Aragorn hated the elven resistance to alcohol. Oh, they were not completely immune to inebriation. He had even seen Glorfindel drunk once, the mighty Balrog slayer who had bragged that not even dwarven ale could make him drunk. Needless to say, the twins had proven him wrong with one of their pranks. But elves could imbibe a lot more than humans without feeling the effects, and thus a human wine was a lot less potent than an elven one.

One would think that after being raised in an elven household – and, against Elrond’s wishes, introduced early to all sorts of alcoholic beverages – and afterwards serving in two different armies where meeting for a pint was a quite common pastime of soldiers, Aragorn would know when to stop drinking. Thankfully the headache wasn’t the worst Aragorn had ever had.

Elrohir put down a cup on his nightstand.

“Hair of the dog,” he said.

His twin was busy opening the shutters. From outside there was the typical noise of people busy at work. Aragorn sat up and reached for the cup, drinking it down quickly while trying not to breath in through his nose.

“I don’t think I remember anything past Doriath,” he said.

“Well, that’s not too bad,” Elladan commented, “that means you almost made it to the end. And I hope you know the story without me needing to retell it.”

“Yes, I’ve only heard it about fifty times. Just on this journey. Don’t you ever get tired of telling it to every audience we get across?”

“I think he hopes to dissuade people from asking for more stories,” Elrohir threw in.

“Though I have to say that the people in this country are exceptionally keen on tales. The young blonde fellow...,”

“Patroclus,” Elrohir provided.

“Yes, Patroclus; he seemed especially interested.”

“I think he was more interested in elves in general than what actually happened in the story. Now, Estel, will you finally get up?”

Aragorn mentally pulled himself together and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. A servant had left a basin with water and a washcloth, and Aragorn made himself presentable. Then the three brothers went downstairs to have breakfast.

King Peleus, they were told, was out in the fields. They had already noticed that in Greece it was not unusual to find a king farming his land. So they were free to roam the palace as much as they desired. It seemed only natural to stop by the training area.

Patroclus sat despondently on a bench from which he could observe the training. There were hardly any adults present, but mostly boys who were just beginning to learn how to use a sword and a spear. The brothers walked over to the king’s nephew and greeted him.

Patroclus smiled at them. “Did you sleep well?”

Elladan smirked. “Us? Very well. Our brother here, like a drunk.”

The young Myrmidon laughed. “I’ll let the servants know to mix more water into the wine.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Thorongil protested gruffly. Patroclus didn’t argue.

“I noticed that there were hardly any men around,” Elrohir commented, changing the subject. “Where are they?”

Patroclus had to restrain himself from immediately responding. As much as the elves amazed him and seemed friendly, he didn’t know them. And if they functioned as spies, then it was his duty that he didn’t reveal too much. However, it was quite obvious that the majority of Phthia’s warriors were absent, and there was no point in lying about it.

“Most of the men are with my cousin Achilles, fighting under King Agamemnon,” he replied.

“And you didn’t go because of your leg?” Elrohir asked.

“That too, yes. Though Achilles seemed quite relieved. He considers me too young to fight with him.”

“Well you are quite young.”

“By whose standards? How old are you?”

“More than 2800 years old.”

Patroclus gaped. “T-two thousand eight hundred?! Dear gods!”

“So you see,” Aragorn threw in, “in their eyes every human is young. In the eyes of those who love us we are never quite ready to put our lives in danger. But one day your cousin will see that he cannot protect you forever and will let you go.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“Yes and no. My brothers and my father love me very much, but they also know that I must fight because that is my destiny.”

“I see,” Patroclus said, swallowing hard. ‘Destiny’ was a word used often in Greek legends, and sometimes even Achilles called it his destiny that he be remembered for thousands of years. But Patroclus had never been as convinced by the idea as he was when he heard Thorongil call fighting his destiny.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a look. Had Aragorn perhaps said too much? But the young human seemed only impressed, and judging by what they had seen of Greece thus far, it seemed unlikely that Phthia had any ties to the Enemy. In fact, they had not come across any servants of Sauron in a long time. The people had not even heard of Sauron or his forces, not even in legends, and neither had they heard of elves, dwarves, ents, or any other creature the elves knew to exist. There were only humans. The Maia the day before had been the first non-human being they had met thus far, and the meeting had been rather unspectacular.

She called herself a servant of Poseidon, which was likely a different name for Ulmo, was observant and had a touch of the foresight; but not even she seemed to have any knowledge about the events in Middle-earth.

For the elves, the journey was proving to be mildly interesting and amusing. It seemed that the enemy’s reach was not unlimited and that Greece was clearly out of Sauron’s sphere of influence. Which did not mean that it would forever be safe.

“Say,” Patroclus began, “as you are warriors, would you not be willing to show us your skill? I heard that your weapons are different from ours.”

“That’s true,” Elladan replied, “but we do not use keen weapons in training. Perhaps you could lend us some of your training swords, and we will see what we can do with them.”

“As you wish. Forgive me for not showing you where they are stored myself. The healers threatened to restrict me to bed again if I moved about. Let me call Demetrius.”

Patroclus called out and the instructor of the young men turned to them. The warriors in training had evidently already been throwing looks at the strangers. The three brothers guessed that the whole city knew by now about the strange twins with the pointed ears.

“Demetrius, please show our guests where we keep the training swords. They would like to have a try with them.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn followed the other man, and soon they were equipped with a wooden sword and had been given their part of the training area. For the young Myrmidons this was the end of their training lesson: there was no way they would miss the strangers’ demonstration.

The three brothers were aware of the scrutiny. Elladan and Elrohir ignored it, used as they were to humans watching them. Aragorn briefly scanned the young men before following his brothers’ example.

“Who goes first?” Elladan asked in Elvish.

“I think our brother should fight one of us first,” Elrohir answered, meaning Aragorn.

“Alright. Who?”

The twins looked at each other. Aragorn knew of their silent communication, though he did not understand it. He did not know whether it was a form of telepathy or a more abstract form of communication through looks and small hints in each other’s expression rather than actual, worded thoughts. It was the phenomena of a nearly unbreakable bond between elven twins, which siblings of different ages could not hope to achieve. He prepared himself and they did exactly as he had expected: Elladan threw himself at Aragorn while Elrohir stepped back.

In the past the twins had done the same; they decided amongst themselves which one would train with their younger foster brother and the chosen twin would attack him without warning. Aragorn had learnt after the first ten times or so not to wait to be told. The twins’ argument was that orcs didn’t announce their presence or who would fight him either.

Aragorn easily blocked the first attack. He was not completely unused to the sword. It was much shorter than the ones his people in the north, in Arnor, wielded. The Rohirrim, however, with whom he had served for a time, had quite similar swords and taught him how to use them. The shorter, one-handed swords were more manageable on horseback than what the Gondorians used, and thus Aragorn had often fought with a Rohirrim sword.

Elven swords were neither as long as the Gondorian sword, nor as short as a Greek or Rohirrim blade but rather a mix between the two. While the humans’ blades were straight, elven blades could be either straight or curved. The Greek sword, on the other hand, had a leaf-shaped blade, like some old, elven daggers had.

Despite the differences to his usual weapon, Elladan seemed to have no trouble adjusting. His reach was shorter, but the older twin had never been one to shy from getting close to his target. Aragorn avoided a thrust for his shoulder by diverting the sword with his own, the wood thudding together. Elladan pulled back, Aragorn moved in, aiming for the elf’s chest, and this time the human’s sword was deflected by Elladan’s. They danced around each other while aiming cuts and thrusts at each other. Aragorn knew that it was extremely unlikely for him to defeat his brother. Elladan had not only the greater experience with swords and battle in general but also superior speed.

Their moves became faster and faster until Aragorn could not keep up anymore and Elladan’s sword came in for his gut, stopping only a hair’s breadth from hitting his body. Their audience, which Aragorn had almost forgotten, let out an audible gasp. They probably would not have been able to pull the blow at the last moment. Aragorn gave his brother a grateful smile which Elladan answered with his own. With a bow of respect, Aragorn conceded his defeat and left for Elrohir to take his place.

The younger twin gave his wooden sword an exploratory spin. Seemingly still focused on his weapon, he approached Elladan only to launch into an attack much the same as the one Elladan had used on Aragorn before.

Aragorn had witnessed many of their trainings in Rivendell. They rarely fought against each other because their moves were as identical as their features, and they knew each other so well that they often anticipated an attack and countered it instantly with something the other twin again foresaw. In battle they fought in unison, always back to back, both attuned to the other as if they possessed one soul and two bodies. When Aragorn had been a child in Rivendell, he had sworn it was so and the twins had laughed at the idea but never wholly discounted it. Perhaps they had considered it themselves once upon a time.

Though the twins had always said that training with each other meant practically no improvement for them, it was impressive to watch. And the Greeks were treated to a full demonstration of their skill. They fought even faster than Aragorn and Elladan had towards the end, with Elrohir equalling his brother easily.

“Gods,” Patroclus exclaimed, voice full of awe.

As unlikely it had been before for Aragorn to win, it was now just as unlikely for the match to end with anything but a tie. The twins normally tired quickly of fighting each other, and it seemed that they felt no competitiveness when pitted against each other, for they rarely fought long or hard enough for one to emerge the victor.

Even now it seemed to Aragorn that they were not so much fighting each other as showing their skill. They led each other to moves like dancers.

“Perhaps not gods but nearly.”

Aragorn turned to see that Peleus had joined them and chided himself for not having noticed it.

“It seems to me that there will be no victor. Thorongil, please tell them that there is no need to continue their demonstration.”

Perhaps the king was afraid the training would turn into something it wasn’t. Aragorn could have assured him that this was not the case but before he could either say anything or do as requested, Elladan and Elrohir ceased and turned to bow to Peleus. The king seemed surprised but returned the bow with a respectful nod. Unlike the king, Aragorn knew for a fact that the twins had heard the Myrmidon.

The audience was too astounded to cheer and shout as they would have done at any other match. They merely watched with wide eyes as Elladan and Elrohir left the training field and handed their swords to the instructor Demetrius.

“If all of the elves’ warriors fight like you, then I cannot imagine an enemy powerful enough to overcome you,” Peleus said to the twins.

“We do not have many enemies. But the One we have is more powerful than any other, and he is not human,” Elladan replied.

“Then I am glad that the wars here in Greece are fought only among men.”

“Let us hope it remains that way.”

Peleus lifted his chin slightly to show that he had understood the elf’s remark and, as any king would, wanted to know more.

Patroclus shifted in his seat, grunting slightly in pain as he did so. The Myrmidon king turned to his nephew:

“Is your ankle still causing trouble? Would you like me to call the healers?”

Patroclus snorted. “No. They’d only poke at it some more and then tell me to lie in bed all day.”

“What happened with it?” Aragorn asked.

“I broke it, and for some reason it will not heal. I was careless and fell off a horse of all things. The healers haven’t been much help.”

“Would you mind if we took a look?” Elrohir inquired.

“Are you healers as well as warriors?” Peleus spoke up.

“Our father is one of the best healers in Middle-earth. He taught us as well as our foster-brother Thorongil. With your permission, we will examine your nephew. I do not believe we can make it worse. Besides, if it was simply a broken bone, it should not trouble Patroclus so.”

“I would appreciate a second opinion,” Patroclus said. “Or a third and fourth,” he added with a small grin.

Peleus nodded to show his permission. Aragorn knelt, took Patroclus foot into his hands and unwrapped the cloth surrounding his ankle carefully. The ankle was swollen red. One of the elves made a dissatisfied noise. Thorongil gently touched the boy’s ankle, trying to feel the break. Patroclus gave no indication of pain, though Aragorn knew it had to hurt.

“The break is healing wrong. Perhaps the bone shifted after it was set.” Or perhaps it wasn’t set correctly to begin with, Aragorn thought, though he did not voice it. He didn’t want to cast doubt on the Greek healers without proof. Elladan joined him in his examination and confirmed his analysis.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to correct the ankle and splint it again more tightly,” Elladan said.

Peleus’ and Patroclus’ faces darkened. Correcting the ankle might mean breaking it again. Aragorn sympathized.

“Do it,” Patroclus decided, determined.

“We should move this somewhere else,” Elladan suggested. Peleus agreed, and while Elladan, Aragorn, and Peleus helped Patroclus to his room, Elrohir left to gather their medical supplies. Elrond had equipped them well with herbs against infection and other emergencies that could occur on a journey. He also asked a servant to bring water.

The three brothers cleaned their hands, and Elrohir reached for one of the dried leaves. He dipped it into the water, even though it wouldn’t do much for its taste or freshness, and gave it to Patroclus.

“Chew on this. It dulls the pain,” he instructed.

The young Greek looked a little mutinous, perhaps feeling that taking the leaf would cause him to lose standing with the foreigners. But the elf added:

“Nobody likes pain. We will not consider you weak for taking it. We do the same when there is opportunity.”

Patroclus obediently chewed the leaf. The brothers leant over his ankle again, discussing their best course in Elvish.

“We won’t be there to watch his progress, so I think breaking the ankle and setting it correctly again is the best thing we can do,” Elladan argued.

“Elladan is correct. We have already spent more time in these lands than we should. If we want to help this boy, that is the best action.”

Aragorn could only agree. They waited for the plant to do its work, pinching the young Myrmidon’s skin occasionally and watching their patient for a reaction. When they were satisfied that the pain would at least be dulled, Elrohir took the ankle into his hands.

They made quick work of it as to have it over with as quickly as possible. Aragorn slathered a salve over the skin to help with the swelling, then they splinted the ankle again as tightly as they dared to ensure that the bone would not move again.

By the time they were done, Patroclus was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open.

“The leaf I gave him makes him sleepy,” Elrohir explained. The elves and their foster-brother packed their things together, and by the time the door shut behind them, Patroclus was asleep.

“We are quite certain the treatment will work this time. Unfortunately we will not be able to watch his progress, as we must leave tomorrow,” Elladan said to the king.

“I understand. Thank you for wishing to aid my nephew. When exactly are you planning to take your leave?”

“Before noon.”

“I hope you are willing to dine with us tonight one more time?”

Elladan smiled. “We would like that.”

By the time dinner was served, Patroclus was up again and eating enthusiastically. Aragorn and the twins recounted some more stories about Middle-earth, and the Greeks in turn told legends such as Jason’s quest and Heracles’ deeds in return.

As Elladan sat next to Peleus, the Myrmidon king turned to him while Patroclus was distracted by Elrohir telling a story.

“You mentioned an enemy this afternoon, and it seemed to me then that perhaps your travelling here was not merely for travel’s sake. Tell me about this enemy.”

“Humans in Middle-earth do not often use his name. They merely call him ‘The One We Do Not Name’. We call him Sauron, or simply the Enemy, but in truth he has many names: he has called himself Annatar, that is the Lord of Gifts; we call him the Necromancer, the Black Hand, the Sorcerer, the Deceiver, and many more. He is skilled and not even the elves have always been immune to his lies. He promises great power but the truth is that there is no place next to him, only below him. Be careful if you ever come across one of his servants, for they are powerful, and their numbers are great. You have seen how skilled we are in battle. Sauron’s forces are not as good, but they are bred quicker than any human, and thus their strength is in numbers. It is sometimes difficult to see who the enemy is, for he also uses humans; but you have a keen eye and, I believe, a good heart, so I pray you will know what to do when you meet one of his minions.

We have not seen any evidence of the enemy’s presence in Greece, but perhaps we did not look in the right places. It may seem that at this time his primary concern is Middle-earth, but what happens if our defences fall? Or if Sauron decides to expand his power before it comes to war in our lands?”

Peleus considered what the elves had said, watching the dark wine in his cup as he did so. Finally he remarked:

“You have not yet said what he looks like.”

“His form would be hideous. He has not been able to conjure up a fair form for a long time. Believe me, you would not get to see him yourself, and if you ever did, it would be far too late to do anything.”

“I will bear your warnings in mind.”

Elladan saw that Peleus was serious, and though the older twin doubted that the human was able to fathom the dimensions of what Elladan was talking about, without personal experience, it was all he could do.

The evening ended on a friendly note with some songs the twins sang for their hosts. Their voices were judged unanimously as unsurpassable, which caused the twins to laugh. Still they insisted on going to bed earlier than the day before as to be rested when they took their leave the next day.

 

In the morning Peleus had a large breakfast served to Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir. Patroclus swore that his ankle felt much better already, though the brothers were of the opinion that it was too early to tell.

When it was time to say their goodbyes, Peleus beckoned to a servant.

“In Greece it is custom to offer our guests a parting gift. These are swords I was given at my wedding, of equal make and strength. I want you to have them, so you may remember Phthia.”

The three swords were identical as Peleus had said. The blades were leaf-shaped and bare of any inscription or decoration. The art lay mostly in the hilts: they were gilded and an eagle was etched into the pommel. The scabbards were also richly decorated. Made largely of wood and leather, the scabbards were also made of gold at the tip, a strip in the middle and at the top. Figures and animals were cut into the metal.

While they could be used, there would be no need to do so, for the elven weapons of steel they carried were of better quality than the Greek weapons made of iron. Still they were beautiful gifts given with a pure heart and would eventually have a place of honour in the halls of Rivendell.

Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn each took a sword.

“Thank you, King Peleus, both for your hospitality and the gifts,” Elladan said. “Humans’ memories fade, and when they die they are eventually forgotten. Elves do not forget, and Elrohir and I will remember you whether we are in Rivendell or elsewhere. You have our word.”

“And I swear to do the same for as long as I live,” Aragorn added.

“May your journey be without incident and your lives long and filled with joy. Zeus protect you,” Peleus finished.

Elladan and Elrohir lifted the hoods over their heads until their faces were mostly hidden. The swords each brother fastened to their belt. Finally they mounted their horses and steered them away from the palace. And even as they left to return to their own lands, not far from Phthia a king’s son rode on his own way home.


End file.
